


Express Delivery

by DachOsmin



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Ear Kink, Epistolary, F/M, Good Wholesome Fun, M/M, Multi, Pegging, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/pseuds/DachOsmin
Summary: For express delivery by courier from the Alcethmeret to the Imperial camp at Ezho, to be delivered directly to the Emperor and opened only by his hand. Signed and sealed by Csethiro Drazharan, Zhasan.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [farevenasdecidedtouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/gifts).



Dearest husband,

These long weeks apart have been more difficult for us to bear than we had anticipated. The next time the chancellor claims it is not done for the zhasan to travel outside Cetho, please remind us to smack him across the temple. Tradition be damned, we would much rather ride at your side.

Oh, we are doing well enough in truth; we do not wish to worry you. The palace renovations are proceeding nicely. Court life continues to amuse and exasperate. We have added several chapters to our newest book. It is only that our bed is cold and large and empty without you.

 I yearn for thee. I ache for thee.

Now, to be fair, we do consider ourselves to be an enterprising sort. And with your spirit of innovation in mind, we have attempted to fill the void you have left with a clever little contraption. It was procured by one of our friends in the artificer’s guild, and it is quite something to behold. ‘Tis a cock made of lacquered ebony, with a delightful set of ridges carved into the shaft. We have taken to riding it in the evenings before our bath. We close our eyes as we ease ourselves onto it, and pretend it is you beneath us. We hasten to add that it shall never replace you: though it fills us up so nicely, it is not you. It does not cry out as we ride it, it does not arch beneath us, nor palm at our thighs, nor lick at our breasts. And of course there is no hot spurt as it fills us with seed. But we suppose it will have to do until you come home.

Csevet feels the same way about your absence, you know. He’s most mournful, like a hound without his master. We do what we can for him, the poor thing. Never let it be said we are not a dutiful wife. We’ve fastened the previously mentioned contraption to a lovely harness of Barizheise leather and used it upon him, and oh, we see why you like fucking him. We press up into him with it, and it wrings the most exquisite sounds from him. It is lovely to feel him break down beneath us: the trembling as his thighs give out, the way his hole flutters around the base- greedy for more we imagine. From all of the tales on his filthy tongue, we imagine one cock at a time is hardly enough for him.

Perhaps we could fuck him together, both of our cocks in tandem- that, at least, might satisfy him. And we would think you would find it stimulating as well, to feel the toy rubbing against you within him. We only wish the toy were flesh in truth, that we might feel his insides clench around us as he reaches climax. You must tell us how he feels the next time you are fucking him, or perhaps we shall inspect the join of your bodies in the act, for he seems quite tight, and we admit we have always been most affected by the sight of you sheathed in him, both of you falling apart.

Or perhaps it is you yourself we shall fuck, if you would wish it. And Csevet might make himself useful ministering to your cock. We like the thought of that: you pinned between the two of us, so overcome that you know not where to put your hands or what to do with yourself as we use you for our pleasure. We wonder what sort of noises we could wring from you: the whole spectrum we imagine, if we practice diligently to hone the skill of our thrusts. (Csevet shall do for a test subject; it is admirable, how willing he is to submit to the needs of the crown.)

We love all of your noises: those breathy little whimpers you make when we suckle at your nipples, the high keening when we bite our claim into the skin of your neck, those throaty moans when you thrust into the deepest part of us and plant your seed there. And that shout when Csevet took you in his mouth ‘neath your desk- why, they might have heard you in Barizhan. Indeed, we should like to put that lovely mouth to good use (and it is a good mouth, we are quite proud of all we have trained it to do in these past months). But what shall we fill it with? If I am to fuck you and Csevet to suck you, we shall need a fourth.

We would bet a pretty penny that Lieutenant Beshelar would be up to the task. For we have seen the way he reddens as he guards the two of us, unable to look away as we couple. We fancy we heard him moan when you came across our breasts in the bath. Whether he wished to fuck me himself or steal my place beneath you remains a mystery, but we would argue the answer is likely both, as we are a delight and you are quite lovely yourself.

Why, perhaps you are making use of his talents even now, lusty thing that you are. We can hardly blame you: he is very easy on the eyes. We can picture it now! His inclination would be to be gentle: he would sweep you off your feet and carry you to your bower. And it would be all tender kisses then: he would take your ear tips in mouth and suck them gently, lave his tongue down your neck and ply it at your nipples until you were squirming beneath him, your cock thick and woefully neglected against your stomach. You would reach for it, wanting nothing more than to grind into your palm like a naughty schoolboy, but he would stop you. He would wish to take his time, and so he would pin both your wrists beneath one massive hand above your head, and carry on with his work as you begged him to have mercy on you. And perhaps his heart would be moved, for he is so very soft towards you, but your pleas would be so very pretty that he could not help himself but continue. So he would continue plying you with tortuous kisses, all down your stomach and over the planes of your thighs, everywhere but on your shaft until you were desperate: leaking all over your stomach, prayers and pleas and curses on your lips until you were so overcome you could barely speak, could only sob helplessly underneath him. Then, and only then, would he take mercy and have his way with you.

Of course were we there with you we would tell Lieutenant Beshelar not to be so gentle: what you need is to be used hard. He would balk at the idea as you are his liege and he is so very proper; but we would bid him to be cruel. And we are told we can be very convincing.

We believe by his proportions that he would be long and thick enough to satisfy even you. We can picture it so well: your lips, stretched obscene around his member as he takes his pleasure in you. You would work your clever tongue in all the ways we have taught you, until he is quite overcome and forgets himself, and lets all of his propriety and restraint fall by the wayside. He would twist his hands in your pretty curls and rut into you like he might a base tavern whore. And you would kneel there and take it, grateful for every inch he gave you, until tears pricked your eyes and he seized in your mouth at the sight. You would drink every drop down and be grateful for it, you delightful little cockslut.

Though if we are to be honest, it seems a shame to waste his spend in your mouth. Perhaps ‘twould be better for him to mount you whilst you entered Csevet in turn. What a pretty sight the three of you would make! We wager he would be strong enough to lift the two of you clean off your feet. And you would be ever so helpless like that: pinned on his cock as your feet dangle in the air. He would fuck up into you and the motion would drive you into Csevet, who would drive you back down onto Mer Beshelar’s cock in turn. You would be unable to fight the pleasure or control it, and the struggle would quickly be fucked out of you, until you hung limp as a ragdoll as the two of them fucked you, over and over and over.

But where are our manners? Just as it is terribly rude to invite only one half of a couple to tea, we would be remiss if we were to ignore dear Cala. Cala would be much more cunning than Beshelar in his seduction, we think. Why, we doubt you would notice his game until it was much too late.

We can picture it now: you would be laboring over your papers late into the night, with nary a respite for your troubles (fantasy aside, if this is indeed the case I will be most wroth with thy councilors and perhaps moved to Have Words with them on thy return). And sweet Cala would be ever at your side, murmuring encouragement, proffering sweetmeats and cups of tea. And you would rub at your brow and wince, and he would frown and tut and ask what ailed you. “Merely a headache,” you would murmur. But Cala would be having none of that, and would offer to massage your temples as the mazas are wont to do during late nights in the library. You would rebuff him at first, not wishing to take advantage of his kindness. But he has an iron will ‘neath those gentle smiles: he would insist, and at last you would give in.

He would put those clever fingers of his to good use: massaging at your temples, scraping over your scalp, kneading at the tension in the base of your neck. He would draw gasp after gasp from you; you would melt into his hands like water. And you would be so lost in his touches that you would be helpless when he left your head to focus his attentions on your ears.

Oh, your ears. We know he knows how dreadfully sensitive they are. He has watched us play at them night after night, curling our tongue around the tip, biting at the lobe, taking them in our mouth until you were well near screaming from our attentions. And we are sure he has heard the things we have murmured to you, that when we have ample time we shall put in the effort to make you spend from such touches alone.

But of course he would pretend he does not know. And you would be far too mortified to tell him. And so he would take them in hand, rolling and pinching at the sensitive folds of skin with those slender fingers of his, scraping the lacquer of his nails over the backs of them. And who could blame him? They are indeed irresistible, whether dressed in pretty rings and jewels, or reddened and abused by our hands.

And of course you could not seek release, as there would be servants and councilors in the room as well, and if you were to stand up and flee surely all of them would see the shameful bulge of your cockstand tenting your robes. You would be utterly trapped, like a bird in a cage, helpless beneath his attentions. And so Cala would continue at his task, humming to himself as he rubbed and teased and tortured your lovely ears until you were certain they were bright red, from his attentions or your lust, or both.

You would lose track of how long he did this; you would know only that it felt like hours. Your heart would be hammering in your throat and your fingers white knuckled as you gripped the wings of your chair for dear life. You would be filled with such lust that you would be dizzy with it, and the thought crossed your mind that if Cala were to flip you up onto the desk, ruck your robes and leggings away from you and fuck you right then and there in full view of all of the servants, you would not protest. You might beg for it, even.

At last, by some miracle of the goddess, the servants would duck out of the room to fetch you your dressing robe. And as soon as the door shuts Cala would be on you, leaning down over your shoulder to press a palm against your shameful cockstand. And you would be too overcome to speak, could only thrust against his hands in a shameless frenzy, knowing but not caring that the servants could come back inside at any moment. You would spend like that, fully dressed, staining your fine court silks with your own seed. And then Cala would pull away and leave you to collect yourself as the servants returned, and you would be so utterly dazed it would not occur to you to call out to him.

Now while these are all delightful scenarios, we cannot help but feel that best of all would be to share you amongst all of us. We would hate to be exclusive, after all, and we are desirous of discovering if the more are in fact the merrier.

We know you worry about how to be an equitable lover, considering your station. Therefore we suggest we tie you with some of our silken belts to even the playing field as it were. We would have you spread-eagled in the middle of the room, naked as the day you were born, with that lovely cock and those pert nipples on full display to all present. And we would invite the others to examine you from all sides- Cala would be drawn to your ears of course, while Beshelar would wish to twist those pretty nipples of yours, and Csevet would focus on your stones. We would ignore your cock for a time, and if you were rude enough to disparage us for it we might have to stuff that insolent mouth with a pair of our underclothes in a bid to silence you.

At last it would be time to fuck you, one after the other, until your hole is red and swollen and leaking with all of your lovers’ seed mixed together. You would be hapless, helpless to do anything but lie there and take it, one cock after another. Perhaps we would invite thine edocharei in as well, if not the whole of the Untheileneise guard. And at the end of the evening all of them would pull away and spend on you: on your face and across your shuddering chest and trembling thighs. Art our emperor, ought to wear white after all.

Oh my dear my dear dear dear darling.

We fear that last image quite overcame us. How very peculiar. We shall need to revisit the subject. One must approach life with a scientific curiosity after all, and multiple trials are the key to sound research.

Hurry home, my dear. Csevet and I eagerly await thy return. Speaking of which: I am given to understand he has been writing thee letters of his own (the coquette!). When thou hast returned, we shall have to read them aloud together. I am looking forward to it.

Thy devoted wife,

Csethiro Drazharan, Zhasan

**Author's Note:**

> We hope Csethiro's imagination amuses and delights. And if you ask for any and all pairings, by gosh, you're going to get them!


End file.
